“I might even so,” said the sceptical Swing.  “But I don’t mind.  I’m good-natured to-day.  I feel just like being lied to.  Turn yore wolf loose.”

* * * * *

“What do you feed it on?” inquired solemn-faced Swing when he had heard Racey to the bitter end.

“Feed which on what?” demanded the unsuspicious Racey.

“Yore imagination.”

“Say, lookit here—­”

“Yeah, I know.  Oh, aw right, aw right, I didn’t go for to make you mad.  I believe it.  Every word.  You’re getting so dam touchy nowadays, Racey, they’s no living with you.  I swear they ain’t.  Why, if a feller so much as doubts one of yore reg’lar fish stories you gotta crawl his hump.  Aw right, I believe you.  How big was he again?  Ugh-h-h!  Uncle!  Uncle!  Get off my stummick!  I said ‘Uncle,’ didn’t I?  Damitall, that left ear of mine will never be the same again.  You rammed it into a rock with more points than a barb-wire fence.  Nemmine no more foolin’ now.  Are you shore you got Peaches fixed for three-four days?  ’Cause if you ain’t—­pop goes the weasel.”

“This weasel ain’t gonna pop.  Not this trip.  Peaches will stay put.  Don’t you fret.  By the time he does drift in we’ll know all we need to know, I guess.”

“We,” sniffed Swing.  “Did I hear you say ‘we’?  Ain’t you taking a awful lot for granted?”

“Shut up.  I couldn’t keep you out of this with a ten-foot pole.  Yo’re like Tom Kane thataway—­always wantin’ in where it’s warm.  Aw right, that’s settled.  Lookit, we know there’s some crooked work on the towpath going on, and that Lanpher and Harpe are in it up to their hocks.  We know that Nebraska is one of Harpe’s friends, and we know that after my fuss with Nebraska, Harpe comes to you and me and offers us jobs—­jobs at fifty per, wages to start when we say when, and no work for a while, yet we’re to stay round town till he wants us to start in.  And he talks of maybe a li’l trouble in the future with Baldy Barbee and the Anvil boys, and he mentions Baldy and the Anvil several times, and the last time wasn’t necessary.  And, furthermore, he don’t say anything a-tall about this Chin Whisker gent, who’s old Dale or I’m Dutch.  So there y’are, and plain enough,” added Racey, holding up the bridle and turning it about.  “From what Harpe said to Lanpher, we know he’s bound to get old Dale’s ranch come hell or high water.  But he don’t say anything about that to us.  No, not him.  It’s all Barbee and the Anvil, and he’s as friendly as a dog with fleas.  His actions don’t fit with the facts, and when a man’s actions don’t do that they’ll stand watchin’, him and them both.”

“Fifty per ain’t to be sneezed at.”  Swing, whose heart had been set on Arizona, was not prepared to give in without an argument.  Besides, he invariably objected on principle to anything Racey might see fit to propose.  Which was humanly natural, but more than maddening—­to Racey.